


If the Tee-Shirt Fits

by Waanderlust



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Blind Date, Fluff, M/M, Mistaken Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 19:24:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1869522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waanderlust/pseuds/Waanderlust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur's blind date doesn't turn out the way he'd expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If the Tee-Shirt Fits

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Merlin Writer's Monthly Theme of Mistaken Identity, for this prompt: It's a blind date, and the only way to identify each other is by the single rose, unfortunately for X, the person he assumes is his date is in fact a complete stranger. What happens when the stranger pretends he is the blind date?
> 
> Thanks to the lovely sassafrasx for the beta job!

"That's not a red shirt," Arthur says.

 The raven-haired guy looks up and stares at Arthur as if he has two heads. Once he straightens up, Arthur can see he's right; the back of the tee-shirt is black and has some kind of floral motif, so even if the front of it is a brilliant crimson, it certainly does not qualify as a red shirt.

 "And are those meant to be roses?" Arthur gestures to the back of the guy's shirt.

 "Er," the guy blinks rapidly, his brow creasing.

 Oh god, trust Morgana to set him up with an idiot and make it worse with the flimsiest of instructions. "Look for someone with a rose and in red," she had said.

 "What, my shirt?" The guy says in a lilt; is that an Irish accent? He taps his own back. "You could say that. It's my own design." He turns to face Arthur, eyes wide. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

 Arthur smiles as pleasantly as he can, as politely as a man who's been coerced by his scheming half-sister on the pain of death to turn up at this blind date. In this one instance, Uther and Morgana are united and Arthur has not forged his way in the Pendragon family without knowing when to give in.

 "I'm supposed to meet a bloke here today with a red shirt and a rose, and you're the closest to that description, mate," Arthur says. He should know; he's spent, er, ten whole minutes looking around the pub and avoiding funny glances from the other patrons as he tried to see what colours their shirts were. Sod the pub lighting.

 The guy's face twitches, and he says, "A blind date." Except that his accent makes it sound like a question, which Arthur brushes away.

 "Yes, exactly! A blind date. So I've got the right person, yeah?" Arthur stops, suddenly unsure.

 "Well, like you said, bloke in red shirt and roses," red-black-rose shirt guy gestures to himself, "who else could I be?" He leans back on his bar stool to stretch out and put his book down, and Arthur catches sight of a sliver of milky flesh as the shirt rides up.

 The guy catches him looking and flashes him a shit-eating grin, which erases all trace of the skittery, confused chap he'd seemed to be just a minute ago. "I'm Merlin, by the way. And you are?"

 "Arthur," Arthur says, and slides onto the bar stool next to him.

 "Arthur," Merlin repeats, hefting the name around as if trying it for size and making it sound entirely different from what Arthur is used to. The way he says it is so musical, all cadences and rolling Rs.

 Arthur can't help it, he rolls his eyes. "Yes, Ar-thur. Yes, named for a king. Don't mess with my name, Mer-lin."

 Arthur immediately wonders if he's being too familiar, again. He knows he's not that great with first impressions, but Merlin only huffs with laughter and says with good humour, "God, you're really a self-important prat, aren't you? You make fun of my tee-shirt, which I made with my very own hands and now you insult me when all I'm doing is making sure I've said your name right."

Merlin's eyes crinkle when he smiles, and his fingers are long and delicate, drumming a rhythm on top of the bar table.

 "I didn't make fun of your tee," Arthur says, slightly shamefaced. Merlin's not saying anything he hasn’t heard before, which is exactly why his previous dates haven't gone well and Morgana thinks he needs help. "Did you really make it yourself?"

 Merlin's laugh this time is softer and much lower in resonance, more intimate. It's getting darker outside, so Arthur could just be imagining things.

 "I didn't pick the cotton and weave it on the loom, but yeah, it's custom printed," Merlin says. He doesn't say more and Arthur doesn't ask.

 Arthur would be lying if he said Merlin isn't his type, but since life isn't a rom-com he's sticking to his guns that a quick, casual conversation should discharge his duties here and get Morgana off his back. He's sure nothing good can come out of a date that she's fixed up.

 It's a shame though, since Merlin seems a decent enough person. He avoids Arthur's tentative attempts to probe at how and why he agreed to be set up. Well, Arthur can understand that, he barely wants to talk about it himself. And so Arthur doesn't try to ask again, and he doesn't speak of Morgana, or of dates.

 Arthur notices that all that's on the table is Merlin's book. "Can I get you a drink?" he asks. Arthur could do with one himself.

 Merlin shrugs and nods.

 Arthur's phone vibrates when he's navigating his way back to their table. He's confused to see a brown-haired chap next to Merlin in an animated conversation with him. They're pointing in his direction – what, does the new guy want a drink too? He has no business muscling in on Arthur's date. Even if Arthur is planning to scoot after a decent interval, that doesn't change things.

 "Who are you?" Arthur asks bluntly, setting the pints down and scrabbling for his phone.

 Merlin opens his mouth, but it's the other guy that answers with a snappy, "Will. Merlin here has something to tell you."

 Arthur's phone has switched from silent to full volume and is now shrieking, so he puts his palm up and pulls away to take the call.

 "Arthur." It's Morgana.

 "What now?" Arthur says in his most exasperated voice. "Are you checking up on me? I won't do a runner, come on, give me that at least!"

 The line goes quiet.

 "Morgana? Oi, I'm kind of busy here? Doing what I'm supposed to?"

 "Arthur, you mean you're at the pub?"

 "Of course I bloody am!"

 "Alone?"

 "No, you harpy, with my blind date!" Arthur says it louder than he'd intended to and the girls next to him look at him oddly.

 "Actually, I've just got a call that the other guy cancelled. Called in sick, or, more likely, got cold feet."

 

_What the fuck?_

 

===

 

Arthur stands in front of Merlin, arms folded and lips pursed. He's learnt from experience in these situations not to be the first one to speak.

 Merlin's glance flickers between Arthur's face and his chest and arms. Arthur's aware that his biceps are flexed tightly against the sleeves of his tee-shirt and reflexively rolls his shoulders; he's not sure if he's adopting a battle stance, and he's not sure he cares. The pub is packed now, the crowd behind them creating a swelling din of chatter and clinking glasses.

 Arthur had been livid when he'd jabbed his phone and cut Morgana off. He'd muttered darkly about skinny blokes who pretend to be his blind date for a laugh. He had wanted to pretend his blinding good looks had made Merlin do it, but if he's frank he knows it's more likely Merlin was taking the piss to wind him up.

 By the time he's stomped back to the table, Arthur has settled into an icy calm. Two can play this game and since his evening is half-wasted anyway he might as well see how far he can take this. Merlin wants to pretend to be his blind date? Fine, Arthur will take him totally at face value and be the Blind Date to best all other Blind Dates. Whatever that means. No, Arthur is not being melodramatic nor is he feeling slightly hurt.

 "Don't mind Will." Merlin breaks the silence between them first. He's started on his drink and has the trace of a beer mustache.

 Against his better judgement, Arthur finds himself stepping forward and saying, "You've got something on your..." Arthur realises he's stretched out his hand to wipe it off and drops it hurriedly before he makes any actual contact with Merlin's luscious lips. Instead, he points at his own mouth. "No, the other side, yeah, it's gone now," Arthur says. So much for a battle stance. He might as well stop the silent treatment then.

 "Who was that?" Arthur asks. He drops into his seat and drinks deeply as well. Even if he's determined to have it out with Merlin and give the guy a taste of his own medicine, there's no reason why Arthur can't enjoy the beer; he's the one who paid for them after all.

 "Will's an old friend. I should have expected to run into him, we always hang out here," Merlin says.

 Arthur sees an opening. "So you told him you're on a date and to bugger off?"

 "Ah, er, yeah… Yeah, that's it," Merlin says agreeably.

 Merlin's good, Arthur will give him that. Although Merlin ducks his head so Arthur can't see his eyes, Merlin seems relaxed and genuine, not like the fucking liar he really is. Arthur is so going to make him feel bad that he ever started this – and making Merlin feel bad starts with making Merlin feel good. Very, very good.

 

Arthur kicks into what Gwaine calls his Prince Charming mode, the one that he uses when he needs to impress clients, but he dials down on the formality. He talks a little about himself and his job at Pendragon Pte Ltd and his family, except that he leaves out the Pendragon name because god knows he's had enough trouble with hanger-ons who realise he's "that" Pendragon, and things between him and Merlin already seem complicated enough.

 In turn, Arthur finds out that Merlin is a graphic designer by day and tee-shirt designer by night, that he moved to London from his tiny hometown of Ealdor last year and is still adjusting to the vastness of England's capital city. He might also have noticed that Merlin has really long lashes and that Merlin's cheekbones are sharp enough to cut glass.

 "It just swallows you up, you know," Merlin says softly. "So many people, you're one nameless face in the crowd, it's like you have no identity."

 Arthur nods. He totally gets it. He tries not to stare at Merlin's lashes, and wonders what colour Merlin's eyes really are.

 "I have the opposite problem," Arthur says. "The one where people think they know you and make assumptions about you. I hate it too."

 Merlin's eyes crinkle. "I didn't know you and I called you a prat. I don't think I was wrong?"

 Arthur laughs, oddly disarmed by Merlin's candour rather than insulted. "I'll have you know, I might be someone very important!"

 "That explains the puffed-up, self-important air then," Merlin says. He grins broadly. "What, do you own the pub?"

 "No, but are you saying that if I did, you'd be polite to me?"

 "Nah, I'd still call you a prat, but at least I'd know who to ask for free drinks."

 Just like that, Arthur is reminded of all the people who want things from him, who make friends with him to get to his father; it sobers him immediately and it must have shown on his face because Merlin's expression changes.

 "Shit, it was just a joke Arthur, I didn't mean it like that," Merlin says. He nudges Arthur with his elbow and, when that gets no response, he gets up to stand next to Arthur and sling one arm around Arthur's shoulder.

 Arthur stiffens at the unexpected and overly familiar gesture, unused as he is to physical contact – especially from people he's just met pretending to be his blind date. Is this like... A hug?

 "This is the part where you say it's okay and that I can get the next round for hurting your feelings?" Merlin's voice walks the line between casualness and uncertainty.

 "Idiot, yes, next round is on you." Arthur is distracted by the warm feel of Merlin's lanky frame pressed up against his shoulder; he wants to slide his own arm around Merlin's waist, just there so close to him, but his body is only capable of leaning into Merlin's hold.

 "Alright then, another round coming up." Merlin is so near that Arthur can feel the rumble from his chest when he speaks. Then Merlin pulls away and heads for the bar and Arthur can finally breathe again and gather his thoughts.

 Things are not going according to plan. Arthur can't seem to remember what his plan is, but it doesn't seem to matter because he feels he's having a rather good time. For a blind date it is going swimmingly well, better than many other non-blind dates he's had.

 After Merlin comes back, Arthur gives it another go. "So Will said you had something to tell me?" Arthur asks, as casual as anything.

 "Oh, that." For the first time, Merlin seems uncertain. His eyes flit to the side and he bites his lip.

 Ahh! Arthur wonders if Merlin is finally going to spill the beans. He's not sure how he feels about that, although he recalls that's what he'd wanted.

 Merlin clears his throat and clutches his glass. "I have a confession to make," he says. His accent is so strong Arthur can barely make out his words. He scoots closer to Merlin, wanting to hear it all properly, even as his heart is in his throat and he wonders if he should just shout at Merlin to stop, to stop his confession right now, to say Arthur doesn't want to hear anymore.

 But Arthur doesn't, he just keeps quiet and looks directly at Merlin.

 "I… I don't think this is really going to work, so I should’ve just left instead of leading you on," Merlin says.

 Arthur is sure his jaw has dropped and he looks a right idiot.

 Merlin is still speaking. "So, yeah, it's been pleasant, but I think after this drink we'd best part ways," he says.

 Arthur finally finds his voice. "Wait, are you saying you don't like me?" he asks, brow creasing. His insides are all tangled up, and the rising lump in his throat is making it hard to swallow.

 "I'm saying we're not a good match, we're so different, and I don't want to waste your time. I know, I was a bit of a coward not to say so earlier, but then you asked what Will meant, so, so, there it is." Merlin says it all in a big rush and sits back, red-faced.

 "What?" Arthur takes a deep breath.

 Merlin looks back at him. He chews his lip all the while.

 "What bullshit!" The words tear out of Arthur, the result of the stress and the emotions of the night. "There is nothing wrong with how we get on. So we're not two peas in a pod, but how many couples are? Weren't we getting along perfectly fine?" Normally Arthur would squirm at the thought of being so forward, but he doesn't give any fucks right now. He doesn't want to repeat his earlier question – maybe Merlin really doesn't like him. The thought sickens him.

Merlin shrugs, lifting one long arm and slim hand in an uncertain gesture.

Arthur has had enough. "When were you going to tell me you're not my blind date?" he asks. It comes out sounding bitter.

Merlin's head jerks up, his eyes as big as saucers. "I… I didn't mean… How did you…? "

"That call just now," Arthur says, although it's none of Merlin's business how he was busted.

"But that was… So all this time…" Then Merlin looks annoyed. "You could have told me!"

 "Pot calling the kettle black? You started it! Pretending to be who you're not." A thought strikes Arthur. "Was… was the stuff you told me even true?" he asks. For all he knows, Merlin could have invented a whole fictitious identity.

 "Of course it is! What do you take me for?" Merlin huffs. "Look, I was sitting here minding my own business, when you decide I'm the guy you're looking for. So I play nice for a bit, before I realise what’s going on and by then it seemed obvious your real date wasn't going to show up, so I thought there was no harm in…"

 "No harm in leading me on, is that it?”

 "No! I swear, I was just going to have a few drinks, then leave and then we'd never have to see each other again. Usual story of blind dates, right? Awkward conversations and empty promises to catch up again?"

 "I wouldn't know, this is my first," Arthur says. He's sullen and words seem to have left him.

 "I didn't mean any harm."

 Arthur presses his palms into his eyes; his head is throbbing. He prays it's not a migraine coming on.

 "I figured once you knew I'm not the guy who was carefully selected for you, you wouldn't be interested anyway," Merlin says.

 Arthur opens his eyes to see Merlin fiddling with his shirt sleeves. He shakes his head. "The opposite actually," Arthur says. Anyone Morgana picked had the odds stacked against him; he'd never give her the satisfaction of actually being right.

 Merlin looks puzzled, so Arthur says, "I would’ve been happier to hang out with people I met at the bar; I hate the whole idea of blind dates. I was going to do the polite thing then ditch the date, anyway."

 Merlin's mouth forms an O shape, then curves slowly into a smile. "Let me get this straight: so we were both going to have token drinks then bugger off?" Merlin says.

 "Looks like it."

 "Except I'm not really your date, so you don't have to flee after all," Merlin's smile widens, his face alight with what looks like hope. Arthur recognizes it because it's what he's feeling too.

 "And if you were making excuses to leave because you thought I didn't know who you really are– well, now I DO know, so you can stay?" Arthur says, determined to sort out this tangle. He frowns. "Unless you don't want to, I'm not forcing you…"

 "Well," Merlin says slowly. "Your company is tolerable…"

 "Hey!" Arthur says, but Merlin is beaming, so Arthur feels a strong sense of relief.

 "And now that we've sorted out all the fragile ego-protecting stuff, we're all good?" Merlin asks.

 "My story is that you were mesmerized by my handsome face, that's what made you do it, and I'll retell this story of how we met to anyone and everyone." Arthur tries a light-hearted approach and is gratified when Merlin laughs so hard that his whole face crinkles up.

 "Twat!" Merlin says and hits him on the shoulder.

 "And your story can be that I was so taken by your ravishing eyes and cheekbones that I allowed you to keep up the pretense," Arthur says.

 "Cheekbones, eh?" Merlin sucks in, hollowing his cheeks out and making Arthur's cock twitch. "You liking them?" Oh yes, Arthur likes this look on Merlin very much indeed.

 "They're tolerable," Arthur says. "I'd need to examine them a little closer to be really sure."

 "Ah." Merlin moves right into Arthur's personal space, so close that Arthur can smell his aftershave, some orangey thing. Merlin tilts his head slightly. "Like this?"

 "More like this," Arthur cups Merlin's face with one hand and runs his thumb along the line of his sharp cheekbones, smoothing the skin under Merlin's eye and stroking repeatedly until he can memorize the feel of Merlin's skin. Merlin's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard, but he doesn't move away.

 Arthur waits.

 Arthur was the one to initiate this by (accidentally) picking up Merlin, and he's made the first move to touch Merlin. He's not an inexperienced wallflower, but he just needs to know he's not alone in this strange… encounter (Could he call it a date now? Did two lies make a truth?). So Arthur waits, and quirks a smile at Merlin and hopes Merlin knows it means “how about it, then?”

 Thank fucking heaven Merlin seems to get it, because he steps even closer to Arthur, right between his legs, and leans in to press their lips together.

 Arthur meets him halfway and it starts hesitant and slow, Arthur feeling all stiff and weird; but then Merlin wraps one arm around Arthur's waist and one hand behind his neck and things seem to fall into place. Arthur relaxes into Merlin's touch and the kiss gets a zillion times better. Merlin's lips are full and warm, just as Arthur thought they would be. He kisses Arthur's upper lip, then his bottom one, then the corners, and after that Arthur loses track.

 Arthur's fully occupied with the sensual, wet glide of lips dragging over his own, floating as he is in the bliss of clever fingers playing with the fine hairs at the back of his neck. He feels wonderfully cared for and he never wants it to stop.

 There's a warm feeling in Arthur's chest that's threatening to explode outwards and it's all Arthur can do not to moan. Because he's only human, he loops his arms around Merlin to bring him closer and closer until they can't really kiss properly on the lips anymore, but Arthur doesn't care. He's too busy nosing at the side of Merlin's face and licking his delectable cheekbones and nipping at the curve of his ear. Merlin's scent is very strong from here, a citrusy smell tinged with some kind of woody undertones.

 Then Merlin's hands move downwards and cup Arthur's arse. Arthur startles slightly, then jerks hard when that movement brings their groins together. Fucking hell, they're both half-hard, and they've only been kissing.

 "Alright?" Merlin asks softly. His words create a slight draft right next to Arthur's ear and Arthur shivers at the sensation.

 "Yeah. More than alright," Arthur wiggles his bum and pushes his crotch into Merlin's. He's feeling reckless; given how the night began, what has he got to lose?

 Merlin gasps; Arthur doesn't know whether from Arthur's directness or from the physical touch. Either way, Merlin's eyes darken and he says, low and husky, "Okay, so I needn't worry about taking it slow with you then?"

 "Nope." Emboldened, Arthur gives a little thrust, relishing the spikes of pleasure his actions are causing.

 Merlin chokes and leans back. "Wanker! If that's what you want, let's take it somewhere else. I'm not into exhibitionism."

 Arthur can't agree more.

 

Somewhere else turns out to be Merlin's flat, since it's closer than Arthur's. Merlin didn't say anything about flatmates, so Arthur is taken aback when they stumble into Merlin's living room and there's a loud noisy lump of a guy on the sofa. It might have been embarrassing, what with Arthur plastered tightly behind Merlin and his hands underneath Merlin's shirt, if the noisy lump wasn't so engrossed in his video game that he barely turns his head at their entry.

 "It's okay, don't mind him, that's just Will," Merlin says, tugging Arthur down a corridor. Arthur has a feeling he'll be hearing many variants of the "don't-mind-Will" refrain if he continues to hang out with Merlin. Right now he is very sure that’s something he wants.

 They're in Merlin's bedroom. Merlin pushes Arthur off him and Arthur would be offended if he wasn’t laughing at how Merlin rushes to clear his bed. There is an incredible array of things piled on the double bed.

 "I didn't think to tidy my room," Merlin mutters. He whips a stack of books and a Mac PowerBook onto the desk. "Make yourself comfortable? Or, whatever."

There's no chair, so Arthur leans by the wardrobe and unbuttons his shirt as he takes in the room.

The side lamp casts the small space in shadows, giving everything a surreal feel. Arthur snorts, thinking surreal is the right word for the night's events. He dumps his shirt and sheds his shoes and jeans while he's at it.

 Merlin's back is to Arthur as he kneels in the middle the bed, sweeping off the last bits of random rubbish. His ridiculously baggy jeans are almost sliding off his hips; the waistband of his black pants are visible. Arthur bets Merlin would look delicious in skinny jeans, with his coltish limbs and long legs. Then again, Arthur reckons Merlin would look divine in a sack, all he would have to do is flutter those lashes and smile and that would be enough.

 Merlin reaches for something or other with a wild swipe, the back of his shirt riding up to reveal a swath of very distracting skin. Arthur looks at the pale flesh and the black floral design and remembers how he'd stared daggers at that shirt in the pub before he'd finally approached Merlin.

 The memory makes him smile; there's something about Merlin. Merlin, who is – bloody hell, is he still at it? – clearing his bed. _Enough is enough._

 Arthur launches himself onto the bed and pounces on Merlin from behind, making him yelp in surprise and drop the canister of Pringles he is holding.

 "Alright, Jeeves," Arthur says, leaning into Merlin's back and relishing the touch. "Housekeeping duties are now over. On to more important things." He pulls Merlin up against him and encircles Merlin's waist with both arms, kissing the back of Merlin's neck with as much control as he can muster. It's not easy to keep things slow. Touching Merlin seems to have set Arthur off, and he wants more – more skin, more intimacy, and just more of Merlin in any way he can get him.

 "You forgot the most important thing, Merlin. Why are your shirt and jeans still on?" Arthur mouths at the little duck’s tail on Merlin's nape.

 "Such a rude guest you are, sheesh."

 Merlin presses back into Arthur and scrabbles to balance as he tugs his tee-shirt off. He doesn't do a very good job with either the balancing or the tee-shirt removal, and ends up hitting Arthur in the face with his elbow before promptly toppling over.

 Because Arthur's arms are still locked around Merlin's waist, they both careen sideways and fall onto the bed with muffled shouts.

"I'm not letting go," Arthur says. "In case you decide to escape to make the bed or something."

They're lying on their sides now, Arthur's chest to Merlin's back. Arthur rubs his hand, the one that's not trapped under their entwined bodies, over Merlin's stomach, reveling in the feel of toned muscles. How does a skinny chap like Merlin end up having abs like this?

Merlin laughs. "Don't be ridiculous," he says. "We'll just mess it all up again, won't we?"

 Arthur helpfully unbuttons Merlin's jeans; the damn things are so loose that it's easy for Merlin to shuck them off with a few pulls. Then Merlin goes back to humming contentedly as Arthur continues stroking his belly, his chest and his nipples.

Arthur feels the low vibrations all along his own front and has an overwhelming urge to make Merlin even more vocal; he bends and sucks down the side of Merlin's neck, kisses the sensitive skin just below Merlin's ear.

Merlin turns towards him in surprise, his face alight with pleasure and his voice husky when he moans. Arthur fucking loves that he can make Merlin look and sound like this. It makes Arthur even bolder.

Arthur slides one leg between Merlin's and cups Merlin's cock. They're both still wearing their pants and Arthur has only one free hand, so it's not exactly ideal, but there's no way Arthur is moving from where he is. He has a pale, trembly Merlin in his arms, who is starting to squirm in a very satisfying way. Arthur's cock is hardening with Merlin's pert little arse pushing back against it, and he releases it from his pants and strokes with a groan of relief. The spike of pleasure is incredible.

 "Arthur," Merlin moans, not sounding pleased that Arthur's hand is no longer on him. His eyes are glazed and he's breathing heavily. "More? Please." Merlin jerks up frantically and lifts himself out of his own pants. He reaches back to clamp his hand over Arthur's and guides Arthur to his growing arousal. Arthur tugs until it's slick and rigid.

 They're now lined up fully, feverish bare skin touching from head to toe. Merlin is a hot mess in Arthur's embrace, his face soft and damp with sweat, the mussed up tumble of his hair tickling Arthur's cheek. Arthur feels like he's burning up from the inside too, in the best possible way.

 Arthur picks up the pace, just because he can, and Merlin says, "fuuuuck," in a strangled voice and throws his head back, back into Arthur's hold. Arthur kisses him again, as fiercely as he can at this awkward angle; Merlin matches him by pushing hard, grinding and throwing his whole body weight back into Arthur.

 Then Arthur's lost in a world of bliss. He rocks and frots against Merlin's arse as he milks Merlin's silky dick. He stutters and loses the rhythm and he's all over the place, but Arthur doesn't care, because it is glorious. Next thing he knows, his hand is wet with Merlin's cum and his own dick is hard as a rock and straining for more friction.

 All the while, Merlin cries out and wiggles frantically and Arthur feels they're sparking like fireworks together in this dim room, feeding off each other's excitement and arousal, both of them simultaneously jerking and squeezing and sliding and rubbing… until everything implodes in a burst of light and Arthur squeezes his eyes shut and comes.

 

==

 

Arthur's right arm has gone numb.

Somehow Merlin has landed on top of Arthur and that's not helping the numb-arm business. Arthur extricates his limb and winces at the pins and needles as circulation (and feelings) return to it. They flop on the bed, avoiding the wet spots.

 Merlin says, "This wasn't exactly how I thought it would go."

Arthur yawns. "Did you want to do more? I'm a bit knackered – what, don't look at me like that, it's been a long day. Some of us worked overtime the whole week." He waggles a finger at the tissue box on the floor and Merlin makes a face and passes it to him.

"I wasn't expecting to be assaulted on my own bed by a human Tigger," Merlin says. He ducks and chortles as Arthur pretends to jump him again. They end up under the duvet to ward off the chilly night air.

"Pigs in a blanket," Merlin says, and laughs to himself.

"Stop with the animal names, Mer-lin."

"Well if the shoe fits." Merlin doesn't stop laughing.

Arthur looks at the gurgling specimen of a man trussed up in the fluffy bedding by his side; this time he really does roll onto Merlin, flipping himself so that there's a double layer of quilt between their bodies. 

Arthur's never been much for physical contact, so he's surprised he's being so tactile with Merlin. He finds himself smiling down at Merlin as he's pillowed on his stomach, and Merlin's grin is so easy and natural and their lips are so close that it seems the easiest thing in the world for Arthur to snog him soundly.

 

===

FIN.   
  
  
  



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